So when Eliot wrote, 'April is the cruellest month,' he'd clearly had a few, because everyone knows that April ain't got nothing on January, ol' damp, dark, mean-spirited January, when we're all fat and poor and pasty and collectively coming down with a nasty cold. What January calls for is a nice glass of red wine by the fire, or a swig of sloe gin on a frosty walk, or a cheerful pint of cider after a hard day's graft.

But not this year. Because this year, having failed to grow a moustache for Movember, I'm throwing myself into the inaugural Cancer Research Dryathlon. For the first time in my adult life I'm going a full calendar month without alcohol. Not a sip. Not a snifter. Not a cheeky body-shot. And I'm counting on you, generous friends,  to make it worth my bloody while.

So instead of buying me a drink, I’d like you to donate a few quid. Every pound helps Cancer Research UK bring forward the day when all cancers are cured. I’ll be donating my drinking money and if I happen to slip off the wagon, I’ll chuck in an extra £15 to make up for it. Cheers. The Dryathlete’s Oath I promise that I shall take part in Dryathlon™, respecting and abiding by the rules which govern it, committing myself to a month without alcohol, in the true spirit of do-gooding, for the glory of Dryathletes and the honour of Cancer Research UK.

Cheers! Erm, I mean, thanks. Oh hell.